A Gift of Lavender
by Lady Ami-chan
Summary: Hmm... how to explain?? Before FY timeline!


(Disclaimer: Amiboshi, Suboshi, and Nakago aren't mine, much as I wish they were! ^-^)  
  
(Note: Yes, there are bits of Amiboshi x Nakago. But it's tastefully done, I promise.)  
  
  
  
Amiboshi and Suboshi lay in a tangled heap of limbs, each laughing faintly as the other woke up with a mild groan. Had they really slept that way? Apparently. Extricating his limbs from the mass, Amiboshi smiled mildly. "However did that come about?" One brow raised, he peered at his twin through blue eyes made foggy by sleep.  
  
Suboshi had barely stirred, and opened sleepy eyes to pass a mild swat at his twin. "Shh. Sleep," he muttered, then went back to his gentle snoring. With a smiling shake of his head, Amiboshi studied his sleeping identical. True, Suboshi was stubborn, and true, he could be violent to outsiders, but when it came to his twin, he was the gentlest, most caring of people. Reluctantly Amiboshi shoved his own still-numb form up on one elbow, using the other hand to smooth back stray strands of hair from his twin's sleep-flushed face with infinite care. "You sleep well," he whispered softly, smiling, and slipped soundlessly from the small bed, his feet finding the mat-covered floor cold and unwelcoming.  
  
Tugging the one threadbare blanket up about Suboshi's shoulders, Amiboshi smiled seraphically. His twin appeared beautifully innocent, healthily flushed, and infinitely relaxed, and for just a moment, he nearly cried off for his work and clambered back into the bed.  
  
But necessity required that he dress himself in something other than the thin tunic and trousers he used to sleep in and get to his work. The sun was still asleep, and the air still held the chill of winter nights. Amiboshi shivered, then turning to the washbasin in the corner of the room with displeasure. Removing his tunic and trousers, he quickly washed his slender form, then shaking the water off in creature fashion. "Cold," he hissed, gasping for breath through gritted teeth.  
  
Quickly donning his signature lavender-colored tunic and dark tan trousers, along with the soft slippers that would do for his work, he relaxed a bit, though the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention from the cold. Running first his fingers then his comb through his hair, he haphazardly pushed most of it back, slipping the blue cloth headband about his forehead, and of their own volition, his bangs cascaded over it. He sighed in exasperation. The baby-fine stuff refused to obey orders, he thought ruefully.  
  
Finally he snuffed the candle, sent a last smile at his twin, and headed out the door of the small cottage. Still the sun had not risen, but he paced on, shivers running down his spine. Cold, icy cold, he thought, mumbling to himself about perhaps buying each of them a serviceable coat with this week's wages.  
  
All too soon he reached the sprawling estate where the shogun lived, and where he worked part-time to be able to support himself and his twin. His hands had once been fine, and pale, and soft, when he worked as a flutist, and his brother had either sung or danced. Now they were hardened, and dark with calluses and fresh blisters. Of course, Suboshi still asked him to play often, and Amiboshi lovingly agreed, and rarely stumbled, at that.  
  
  
  
In the middle of his train of thought, Amiboshi found himself at the young shogun's front veranda, and looking up at the footman who kept the doors. "I am reporting for employment," he said simply, and the wordless footman nodded, opening the great doors.  
  
As always, the halls were shadowed, and draped in dark silk, as always. This day, it was a deep, deep blue that rivaled the reaches of the sea. Amiboshi shivered. The shogun kept his home dark though his hair and eyes were bright, warm hues, and his moods went the opposite way: cold, dark, empty, emotionless.  
  
The sounds of deep, racking coughs could be heard from down the hall, and Amiboshi recognized the cursing between wheezes as the shogun's. He'd a characteristically deep voice, and a vocabulary that almost -- almost -- surpassed Amiboshi's.  
  
Shyly stepping lightly down the hall, his feet made no sound encased within their soft, old slippers. He peeped into the shogun's room, causing a soft tinkle of the strands of glass and jade beads that hung, concealing him from view.  
  
The once-strong man was confined to his bed. He was pale, and his lashes hung at half-mast over eyes still as blue as the light that shone dimly about him. His blond hair was mussed and hung heavily in unwashed strands about his face, which was contorted in pain.  
  
"Get out," the blond shogun rasped, and the faintest trace of blood seeped down the corner of his grimacing lips. His eyes flashed darkly, catching Amiboshi in their malevolent stare.  
  
He shivered and rushed toward the shogun, his employer and sometime- confidante, to peek at the pale, worried, pain-wracked face. "Sir! Are you all right?"  
  
The shogun swore softly. "Of course I'm not all right," he rasped, turning his face obstinately from the young boy, though Amiboshi could see the crimson streak trailing down the corner of his strong chin. It wasn't supposed to be there. It didn't belong on his friend's face. Incongruous, that, but it didn't seem at all right, there on the pale smoothness.  
  
"Sir, what is this? What's the matter?" Amiboshi's voice had turned faintly upset, his expression one of concern.  
  
The blond general looked at Amiboshi, his eyes flashing out dull blue fire. "I'm ill. Apparently the latest plague," he said, coughing again so that the little rivulet of blood turned freshly, glitteringly scarlet. His expression took on what seemed a bone-deep weariness, and his eyes no longer flashed at all, but dimmed and cooled. "Don't catch it, boy. Fight like a demon--" Then the shogun was asleep.  
  
For a moment Amiboshi nearly panicked, but saw the steady, if sluggish, rise and fall of the shogun's broad, blue-satin-covered chest beneath the deep dove's-plume gray of the comforter. He was about to turn and quietly walk from the chambers to attend to his work as a planter's assistant, when the blond man capitulated.  
  
"Go home, boy. The gardens will survive a day without your ministrations." Another cough came, this one bone-shatteringly deep and painful-sounding. "Unless you'd prefer to stay."  
  
Amiboshi thought a long, silent moment, the laborious sounds of the shogun's breathing sounding in his ears like the winded attempts of an amateur to play an instrument of great size and resonance. Slowly he turned to face the shogun. "It seems you're without a companion, sir. I would offer my services in that respect." He left out the fact, because my twin is sleeping and doesn't expect me home till this evening.  
  
The blond shogun lifted one unexpectedly slender and faintly pale hand to place his fingertips upon the crimson stain at the corner of his carved-marble lips. "That sounds pleasant," he said with a trace of bemusement, the first emotion Amiboshi had heard in the deep, resonant voice, aside from bitterness or the palest trace of displeasure. The blond man looked down at his blood-damp fingertips, and a faint flicker of something like distaste showed on his face, a slight frown etching those lips.  
  
It was all Amiboshi could do to keep from shuddering when the man made no move to wipe away the crimson. It was as though he intended to leave it there, upon his fingertips, a reminder that he might very well die, and who but the fifteen-year-old Amiboshi to be witness. "S-so, sir... what would you like to talk about?" he said, cursing himself for the slight, irrepressible stutter that began his sentence, and the quavering tone that the entire thing smacked of. He very much felt the coward, and stiffened his resolve. He would not make a fool out of himself.  
  
  
  
The general appeared contemplative for a moment, his eyes wide open now, the only evidence of his illness in the very pallor of his skin. "Tell me: I have heard that you play well. Is this a fact?"  
  
Amiboshi's deep, surprised violet-blue eyes rose sharply to meet the shogun's lighter blue ones. The older man seemed to take an interest, sitting slightly forward against his multitude of cushions and pillows. Slowly, reluctantly Amiboshi nodded, and drew from its hiding place the worn flute.  
  
"Ah. The flute. One of the more refined instruments," the shogun cited as though from memory. Amiboshi nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and his hand was clenched about the flute in a death-grip. "Will you play for me? It's been so long since I've heard the flute played well," the shogun's voice was almost cajoling.  
  
Once again, dumbly, Amiboshi nodded, and brought the flute to his lips. He took in a deep draught of air, then launched into a sonata he had only just written, to his dismay. What if he missed a note?  
  
As always, when he played, he slipped into that other world, where there was no strangeness to people, where everything was rounded and soft and a bit fuzzy around the edges; all in all, a pleasant place, if strange.  
  
He could still observe the shogun's face, and the man's mouth had dropped open, and the wide blue eyes were staring wordlessly at him.  
  
Ah, that was strange. The faintest of the outline of a symbol he translated as 'heart' had begun to form on the shogun's forehead, he thought with detachment. Funny. He'd never seen that before. His thoughts were simple, in this state of mind, bound in soft, plush cotton to that there were no hard edges, as though the music rounded them all off.  
  
The shogun's hands nearly shook as he reached up, pushing his hair from his eyes so that he could see Amiboshi better. His breath came in rasping gasps, and his eyes were wide and as round as they could become. He appeared as a child, gazing in awe at something precious, something expensive, something wondrously out of his reach.  
  
And still Amiboshi played on, there seemed to be no stopping the flow of music that he skillfully, deftly tweaked away from the slender instrument. He leaned into the music as a person would lean into a strong wind, his eyes closed, his nose scrunched faintly in concentration. It was a romantic sound, that put the shogun in mind of summer nights spent near a clear, sweet, cold fountain. He fancied he could feel the spray upon his face and arms, and he smiled in faint delight.  
  
  
  
Amiboshi finally ended the music on a trembling, delicate note, his face flushed with exhilaration, and he looked to the shogun for approval.  
  
He found the blond man speechless, his breath soft; not ill and raspy as it had been before, but smooth and easy, and his face had lost the unhealthy opaline gleam.  
  
It was all the shogun could do not to laugh, to leap from the bed and test this; he felt no trace of the deep, seeping illness that had fallen over him like a dark satin swathe. His blue eyes were trained carefully on Amiboshi's face, speculative, questioning. "You did this, didn't you, boy?" His voice was smooth, caressingly dark, and his glinting blue eyes tried to catch Amiboshi's carefully averted violet-blue ones.  
  
"Yes, sir. I didn't think you should suffer..." Amiboshi's voice was quiescent, soft and light, pale.  
  
The shogun mulled over it a moment, then tossed the covers off of his form and shook his head, looking like a canine shedding water before he stood formally. "I am Nakago. Boy, see me as I am, and lose your illusions." The symbol he thought he had been imagining flashed into being, and Amiboshi's eyes widened, innocence making them round and bright as lovingly polished iolite discs.  
  
Nakago found himself irresistibly drawn to the boy with his wide, intelligent, kind blue-violet eyes; his appealing dirty-blond hair; and the face that could hide no emotions. The symbol that existed upon his forehead tended to reinforce natural feelings; perhaps it was having an effect on him, toying with his mind as it tended to try. No matter how he pushed at the compulsion, it would not budge. After a futile moment, he decided that it was true, it was natural, and that there was no escaping it. Of course this boy would not accept him; but he could be a father-figure, couldn't he? He could teach the boy so much. He would do nothing to counter the charming naivetÃ© that he found so pleased him.  
  
Amiboshi was staring rapt and did not notice the brightness emanating from his own shoulder, the deepest blue the general had seen. The smallest smile crept over the expressionless, marble-hard lips. "Turn around, boy."  
  
Puzzled, Amiboshi obeyed, and he soon felt Nakago's hand tugging at the shoulder of his tunic, and he obliged by shrugging that shoulder free of the threadbare, worn cloth. A sharp intake of breath could be heard, and a faintly tickling feeling that he supposed to be the general's fingers brushing lightly against the strangely-sensitive skin of his shoulder. "Amiboshi."  
  
The name was strange in his ears, yet it felt like home, just as did the proximity of the blond general. He did not feel uncomfortable in the least, just faintly curious. "What... sir?"  
  
Nakago's tiny smile widened ever-so-slightly. "You're a Celestial Warrior of Seiryu -- you're Amiboshi."  
  
His eyes widened again, and had Amiboshi been holding a delicate crystal glass, it would have fallen and shattered, even upon the thick, soft aqua-colored carpets. "Sir -- sir, you must be mistaken! I can't be a warrior, that's more like my twin!"  
  
"A twin. Even better -- he's probably Suboshi."  
  
Amiboshi was bewildered, and he quickly stepped away from the general as if slapped. Nakago wondered if the perceptive, sensitive boy could read the emotion in his eyes, a gentle tenderness that was terribly alien to his mind. He wondered if the boy could ever accept him, then doubted it again. He almost swallowed convulsively, his blue eyes flashing out defiance.  
  
Amiboshi's words were hurried and nearly tripped over one another as they rushed, each to be the first to pass his lips. "Sir, I must go home." His voice stuttered faintly, and his violet-blue eyes seemed near-swooning. His long, adept artist's hands raked through his baby-fine, soft, dark- blond hair. The boy turned, and fairly flitted from the room, a faint blush upon his cheeks the color of sweet cherry blossoms.  
  
Nakago observed. Perhaps he had been too forward -- what? He wasn't thinking of the emotions he felt -- or shouldn't have been -- but he was, wasn't he? Drat all the rotten luck, he had thought to monopolize the boy. This Amiboshi seemed all-too-innocent. He wasn't more than fifteen, with a soft, pale complexion and long dark lashes that anyone would have passed him off as inconsequentially young and too naive to be of any help. But Nakago knew better. He drew in a deep, healthy draught of air, then coughed, expelling stale sickroom air swiftly. Blast it. He beat a swift retreat from the sickroom -- the smell was disgusting.  
  
  
  
Amiboshi's steps were quick and silent as he sprinted down the small dirt road to the home he shared with his twin. Was he really -- no, it couldn't be, the shogun had been joking -- but the name sounded like home, a long-lost thing, sounded like relatives, sounded like parents. At the last allusion, his heart gave a wrench within him, and he paused, closing his eyes tightly and lifting his face to the sky. Why did he torture himself so?  
  
It was still early in the day for Amiboshi to be returning home, but he didn't feel as if he could bear one more moment in Nakago's presence. The blond man seemed to unnerve him, with his hawk-eyed gazes and his long, warm hands -- but no use thinking about that now.  
  
The hot blade of a stitch buried itself in his side, and he ignored it, continuing his running. He thought too much. Suboshi was always telling him to be active, to ignore his thoughts sometimes. Unfortunately, he never succeeded.  
  
Curse it all! This business had gotten him worked up. Why? Of course he had no romantic interest in the shogun, what a silly idea in the first place!  
  
But what if he did? What if he did, and was hiding it so deeply that even he couldn't see it? What a problem. Probably it would be better if he left the whole matter alone. But yet, he couldn't help emotions, at least not his own. Amiboshi's flute clanked faintly at his side, and he glared at it. Blasted thing! Why had he ever acquiesced?  
  
He paused, doubling over to breathe. The stitch in his side was sharp, he realized. Panting, the soft scent of lavender -- delicate, sweet, drifting, tempting -- pervaded Amiboshi's senses, and he breathed it in, marveling that anything could be sweet when he was in this state of mind.  
  
The low bush bloomed on the other side of the road, and as soon as the stitch had receded, Amiboshi straightened and strode to it, plucking one of the woody sprays of soft, pale violet flowers. It might help ease the nasty scent of Nakago's sickroom.  
  
Amiboshi cursed himself for being an immoral fool, but it was one of those things that he couldn't fight. It felt too good, and he always had been the one that gave up his comforts for Suboshi to live in a better way than he, so why couldn't he have this one concession?  
  
That night, after wearily cleaning the dishes and numbly finishing the housekeeping, after Suboshi was long-asleep, Amiboshi settled himself on a cushion. Before long, he was in an uneasy sleep, filled with vivid dreams of amazing clarity: some beautiful maiden's kisses, warm and comforting.  
  
Amiboshi knew it could never happen; knew he would fear if it ever did. These dreams were yet so clear! But also so unfair, showing him glimpses of something he'd never experience. He knew he'd be forever on the hunt for a wife for Suboshi, and he knew he would probably end up a spinster of forty and lonely, though welcome in this brother's house with his numerous nieces and nephews.  
  
He woke with a shudder, then changing in due time to his nightclothes, and lying awake for most of the night, contemplating the sinful, if delicious, daydreams, and feeling disgusted with himself for having them in the first place.  
  
When the morning came, Amiboshi woke, performed his early-morning ablutions with the icy water, and went to his work in the fields after placing the sweet-scented lavender bag he'd made upon the shogun's dressing table. His long, graceful hand had inscribed some quiet, unassuming, studious lines of poetry on a tiny scrap of fine parchment he'd had around the house -- more like a chaste, kind friend than a lover, he'd thought as he scrawled the words onto the scrap.  
  
Amiboshi was hammering away at a particularly hard lump of earth with a hoe when the shogun's words rang from the house. "Amiboshi!" He gestured for the boy to follow him inside, then vanished back through the shadowy doorway. His fellow planters gave a raised-brow gaze and then went back to their work.  
  
Amiboshi laid down the hoe, glaring furiously at the tool before he sprinted to the door and slipped inside. The blond shogun had look like a child's excitement on his finely-crafted face, and his blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "Follow me."  
  
He followed the steps of the shogun down a long corridor, and found himself nearly crashing into him. Amiboshi blushed faintly, and Nakago smiled. The small sachet of lavender hung from the belt of his tunic, and they stood before a closed door. Before he opened the door, Nakago lifted one finger to his lips. "Be quiet. There's a gift in here for you."  
  
Amiboshi, curious as to his intent, nodded. Finally Nakago unlocked the door and opened it, stepping in. "Shh. Down. Good boy..."  
  
Within paced a great white tiger, all rippling sinews and muscles beneath luxurious snowy fur streaked with deep gray stripes. The tiger's eyes were round and amber, dark and intelligent. Nakago's voice rang with pride. "This, Amiboshi, is for you. Thank you."  
  
Amiboshi's eyes widened when the great tame cat came close, sniffed him once, then butted at his hand to be petted. He obliged, and a deep rumbling came from the tiger's throat. "For me? But sir, I don't deserve such a wondrous gift!" His violet-blue eyes were wide as he gazed up at the shogun.  
  
"You gave me a gift, and I return favors. Yesterday was a gift of life. And the lavender was the gift of grace." Nakago's voice had deepened softly, warming Amiboshi to the heart. "There's so much I want to teach you, Amiboshi. And you deserve to know them." Nakago had decided that he would be a mentor and a father-figure to the young one. "You and your twin. The pair of you can live here. You will no longer wear that threadbare tunic, or work in the fields. You will become the son of a noble. And your pet is quite welcome." The faintest smile caught his lips, and those warm blue eyes twinkled lightly.  
  
"Yes, sir!" Amiboshi nodded, giving a bow; in which he was dealt a pounce by the tiger, who pinned him with soft paws while purring. Nervously, he laughed and shimmied adeptly from beneath the creature. Petting the soft muzzle, he smiled to the shogun dazzlingly, who merely nodded, and handed him a silver collar studded with pale sapphires and a silvery silken rope to use as a lead.  
  
"If you wish, you can begin moving in this afternoon."  
  
Amiboshi nodded again, eager and overjoyed. He, in a childish impulse, flung his arms tightly about Nakago, beaming. "Thank you, sir! My brother and I will be back soon, sir!"  
  
Nakago could fairly smell the heather that scented Amiboshi's hair in this close embrace which was over all-too-soon. When he released Amiboshi, the boy turned and fastened the collar about the tiger's neck and smiled in delight when the monstrous creature followed him, butting lightly at the back of one knee. " 'Bye, sir!"  
  
  
  
Amiboshi burst into the house, the white tiger's mouth open in a soundless roar. " 'tooto! We are to pack our things this instant! We're moving onto the shogun's estate!"  
  
Suboshi dropped the tiny enameled box he'd been holding, and it popped open with a slight, soft noise of fwop. He looked up alarmedly, then scuttled for cover. "Aniki! There's a tiger behind you!"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know! He's a gift the shogun's given me. Isn't it magnificent? He's perfectly tame." Amiboshi bent over the purring, enormous feline and whispered. "He's a friend, all right? 'tooto is my brother. You mayn't injure him."  
  
Indeed the great white beast seemed to understand his master's words and directive. It only purred louder and flopped its considerable bulk onto its back, looking at Suboshi with wide, dark amber eyes, pleading for attention. Reluctantly Suboshi did, scratching the thick, luxurious fur of the creature's stomach.  
  
"The shogun's asked us to move in with him! No more pinching for food and working our hands to the bone!" Amiboshi was enthusiastic, his violet- blue eyes sparkling with joy.  
  
Suboshi looked amazed. "What've you done to convince him?"  
  
Amiboshi furrowed one brow. "Nothing... I only managed to heal him somehow with my flute, and I gave him a sachet of lavender -- like the ones in our clothes-trunk -- because I thought it would ease some of the smell of sickness in his chambers."  
  
Suboshi nodded in enthusiasm, then caught Amiboshi up in a tight hug. "You're brave, Aniki. Everyone fears him, myself included. But I suppose you didn't, hmm?" Admiration welled up in Amiboshi's identical's blue- violet eyes.  
  
Amiboshi laughed faintly. "Enough flattery, Double! Pack yourself!" Prying himself free, he began to rush around, packing all of his things into a small valise, fairly bubbling with excitement.  
  
In a scant hour, the twins had arrived upon Nakago's doorstep, beaming and hauling only small valises. The doorman gave them a look of disdain, and sniffed, and let the pair in. Suboshi gawked at the rich, sumptuous hangings and tapestries upon the walls.  
  
Nakago received them graciously. "Welcome to my home, our home. We will live here and I shan't let anything happen to you. Everything within these walls belongs to all of us. The menagerie is in the field in the back. Your tiger, Amiboshi, shall have free rein. May I ask what you will name it?"  
  
Amiboshi thought a moment, then smiled down at the tiger who looked up, blinking languorously. "I think I shall call him Mikado."  
  
"Excellent choice." Was it just him, or did Nakago's voice twinge at the name? "At any rate, we must get you boys dressed well. Follow me."  
  
So they did, and found themselves dressed in silken garments: Amiboshi in silver-embroidered blue, Suboshi in gold-embroidered black. The pair exclaimed over their appearances in the mirrors.  
  
Then, just as Amiboshi had done before, the pair flung themselves onto Nakago, hugging him as a child would a father. "Thank you, sir! We are in your debt!"  
  
Nakago smiled. The scent of Amiboshi was heather, and the scent of Suboshi was honey-soaked autumn apples. He would have to remember that.  
  
Dinner was eaten after Suboshi chose for himself a mascot from the fields of the menagerie: a falcon of pure, glistening snow-white feathers and regal stature with flashing pale, pale blue eyes that he named Okabi. It perched upon his shoulder with ease. It seemed that Nakago had known: the shoulder of the tunic was reinforced so that the piercing talons could not catch on the smooth white skin of Suboshi's shoulder.  
  
Mikado sat faithfully at Amiboshi's side. The great white tiger was his defender, and the beast could sense the undercurrent of one's intent toward his master. When Suboshi neared, Mikado purred an 'all's well', when Nakago neared, the great beast gave off a rumbling meow of 'careful -- something's afoot'. Amiboshi reprimanded the tiger while Nakago suppressed a blush. The creature knew his intent.  
  
After dinner was through, it was late, and bedtime. The twins shared a room, but not a bed as they had done before. It was uneasy at first, but each could now sprawl as they wished without accidentally beheading the other.  
  
It was thus as midnight rolled around: Suboshi slept hard, snoring faintly, Amiboshi lay wide awake in a stream of bright moonlight, and Nakago walked the gardens. Finally, leaving Mikado sleeping at the foot of the wide bed, Amiboshi slipped out of the room soundlessly, and into the gardens.  
  
After a few moments of aimless wanderings, he banged hard into the shogun, barking his shin on a marble bench where Nakago had been sitting. "Drat!" he yelped, sitting down nearly on Nakago's knee, rubbing his shin and wincing, gasping half-oaths and swearing softly.  
  
Nakago appeared concerned. "Amiboshi? Are you all right?" He knew it was Amiboshi; the scent of heather did not lie, not to mention the older twin's features were just a touch more refined and calm, even when grimacing in pain.  
  
Amiboshi nodded. "I'm fine, sir. I didn't mean to sneak up on you; I didn't know you were here." He blushed gently, looking away.  
  
"It's quite fine. I rather wished you would come out here. There's something I wish to show you." Subconsciously Nakago's voice deepened to a warm, rich sweetness that sent a shiver down Amiboshi's spine. Was that admiration, amusement, or barely-concealed desire? He rather suspected the latter.  
  
  
  
Nakago's eyes shone like blue stars, lustrously bright. Amiboshi couldn't help it: streaks of excitement caught through his spirit, bright and sharp and warm. Maybe he could get out of it somehow. But no; his heart had control, his mind had no bearing on it. His head, under his heart's volition, nodded, and his voice came through his lips without being bidden. "Yes, sir." It sounded rich, and it was as though the moonlight enchanted both.  
  
Nakago, with a deep, shuddering sigh, leaned close, brushing his lips just barely over those of Amiboshi. He released another sigh after, strangled. "Follow me, young one. I will show you." He raked his hand through his hair, then took off at a furious pace, leaping low bushes with an adept ease. Spellbound, Amiboshi followed, all in a rush. The silken, soft brush of lips had electrified him; there was no doubting it.  
  
Finally, after long minutes of running without pain, they arrived at a clearing that contained a waterfall with many tiny grottoes. Some of them were marble, others agate, deep and crimson; some were crystal, and shone like amethyst. Amiboshi gazed at it raptly, and Nakago took his hand.  
  
"This is what I wanted to show you." Amiboshi's hand went to his flute.  
  
"I wonder if we can't make this place as holy? Fill it with the light of the flute, sir?"  
  
"No. I will play my own instrument. You sing." Nakago's lips curved up at the corners faintly, lightly. His blue eyes glowed with emotions. He drew from his belt a lower-pitched flute, and lifted it to his lips. Finally he began playing.  
  
The tune was familiar, and Amiboshi began to sing, and dance. "We belong here...  
  
"We belong to the sounds of our voice, one voice, ringing high above the highest reach of the sky. We belong to the stars, our stars, we belong to the embraces we share, forbidden but sweet, deliciously sweet. Whatever we desire, we shall have, we belong as one, belong two as one..."  
  
Nakago lowered the flute, and his rich baritone voice joined with Amiboshi's. They rose in a shimmering crystalline harmony that made the entire clearing ring. "Still you say we belong to the light...  
  
"Whatever we desire, whatever we deny or embrace is our right. If you surrender tonight, you'll need someone to hold..."  
  
Amiboshi found himself leaning close, resting his head upon Nakago's chest. He could hear the furied beating of the strong heart beneath the thin amber silk he wore.  
  
"Take my hand... it'll be all right." Nakago's voice was broken and tender, and Amiboshi trusted him and loved him more than any other he ever had, excepting his twin.  
  
At that very moment they shared a kiss that sent Amiboshi's spirits soaring on great wings of clouds, a deep, soul-searching kiss. One could almost feel the mingling of heather with sweet valerian in the air, if one were a poet.  
  
  
  
There was a reckoning that night, in the rainbow falls, far from chaste. It was not before the light of day that the pair returned to the estate. A dash they cut: tall, regal Nakago bearing tenderly the slight form of gentle, exhausted Amiboshi.  
  
Not one person commented; Suboshi slept on, the servants averted their eyes, and the radiant, if exhausted, expression on Nakago's face was telling. Gently Nakago cleansed sweat from the pale, limp form with a soft cloth; laid the sleeping boy in his own monstrous bed made up in soft dove's-plume gray silk, tucking the comforter up about Amiboshi's shoulders. He sat then upon a small stool covered in deep blue satin, watching worriedly over the pale, sleeping face, with its long dark lashes and lips that he knew were sweet and silken. No longer was the scent of warm heather pure and light, but it mingled with valerian, a soft soporific.  
  
He'd been so innocent. He'd not known what he'd been in for, but Nakago had been a gentle teacher. At that he blushed, his cheeks turning an appealing shade of crimson.  
  
Amiboshi made a soft sound as he roused. "Mm."  
  
Nakago was instantly jerked from his brown study. "Amiboshi. Are you well?"  
  
The boy shifted just a bit, his eyes still closed. " 'sir." For a moment, the face shifted into a light, childish appearance, then the eyes opened. No longer were they their childish, illusioned violet-blue, but as coolly blue as Nakago's own. The expression held no hint of illusion.  
  
The color pierced his heart. "Amiboshi." A wash of sadness desperately crept over the fine, marble-carved face. What had he done? Taken innocence cruelly, killed the boy's livelihood as surely as if taking away a favorite thing.  
  
"I know, Nakago. I know."  
  
"If you cry for a dream, it will come to you forever..." Nakago whispered, trying with all his might to be poetic. The words that came he did not understand, but he knew they must pass his lips.  
  
Amiboshi's eyes, blue as a sky in the depths of warm, lively spring, twinkled with endless mirth. "Then may the tears flow freely."  
  
Nakago thrilled at the words, and he thought of Amiboshi as the light to his darkness, to bathe him in summer's sweet radiance:  
  
"We belong to the stars: together. May our song be one of blue, blue for laughter bright beneath a sky cloudless, blue for joy as sweet as rain, blue to smile, to remember, to hold close."  
  
Only then did the world, for them, resume its lively spinning. Forever close would each be held: for fear they'd be lost. 


End file.
